Outside of El Grande Rojo Cueva. 7:45 P.M.
Scott and Ororo, after six hours in route to location, were ready to make use of what little natural light they had left. They wanted to at least get a sense of the cave, needed to see the spot where the John Doe had been found by the Wilsons.
Emma had already checked in, saying she and Agent Mace were finished with the questioning and were very certain that either Wilson could be of no further use to them, but were waiting for Scott's word to send them home. Scott had told her to hold them until autopsy results came in, which he figured Jean and Hank might have something for him by later tonight.
Now, suited up in cave exploring gear, he and Ororo entered the seemingly normal cave. As a lifelong Scout, earning his Eagle at fourteen, Scott knew his way around exploring. And, because part of being a Scout came with it the knowledge every good leader should know, he turned to his teammate and said, "I want to see the scene as they saw it. No more than twenty or thirty minutes. Then, at first light tomorrow, we'll come back, okay?"
Ororo's parents died in a bombing accident when Ororo was eleven years old. She wasn't with them, but because of the huge, sick interest in violence the culture has, Ororo had seen many images of what it might be like to die in a horrific way. The idea of rubble falling from a building and crushing what was in its unseeing path made her tremble for what her parents must have witnessed before their lives were taken. She wasn't claustrophobic in the clammy, knee shaking, passing out type of fear, but a cave could be scary for almost anyone.
She nodded to Scott, forcing herself to remain calm, knowing she could trust him fully with her life, and said, "Let's not waste any time then."
A slight smile splayed across his face, barely visible in the glow of their headlamps and he said, "Atta girl."
The scene was roped off, as crime scenes and suspicious deaths usually were, and both of them stood by the ropes, looking down at the spot where the half-man and half-bird mutant had probably taken his last breath. The amount of blood coloring the dirt beneath them indicated he had died here. The splatter on the walls indicated he might have run into them – perhaps flown into them. Could it have been suicide? Was this man one of the many who could not deal with the fact that they were born different, malformed, mutant?
Scott took out from the utility belt he wore, several tags, and he marked spots on the wall where he saw blood. There were gaps in the walls and ceilings of the cave, or at least this part of it, and if any weather did come through and destroy evidence, Scott wanted to mark off the places where the blood was. Tomorrow, they would use the luminal spray to see if they had missed any – of this John Doe's or otherwise. But, for tonight, he had seen enough.
One of the residents of Jim Hogg County, that lived closest to the cave, was in the business of running local tours, and he waited outside as Scott and Ororo looked around. When the two Agents came out, he helped them out of the suits and said to them, "Y'all be headin' towards San Antonio, an' comin' back here in the morning?"
"That's right," Scott said.
But the man, Frank Perry was his name, shook his head, "The missus and I have a place above the garage, if you'd like to take advantage of it."
"Thank you, that's very kind of you," Ororo said, "But, we have to meet with our team tonight."
Frank shrugged, "Maybe you'll stay with us tomorrow night then. A lot of us here, if given the opportunity, would love to tell you the things we've seen."
Scott raised an eyebrow over the slim visor he wore, and said, "Hold your invitation then, Frank." And then, taking his phone out of his pocket, he said, "If you'll excuse me for a moment." He walked a few feet away from them and called Remy.
Avoiding pleasantries, which was common, Scott said when Remy picked up, "You find anything with Agent Gold?"
"More than I wanted to," Remy responded. "She's sending it to San Antonio." He paused and then added, "Scott, the bird man isn't the only casualty, and there's plenty of weird shit besides death, too."
"We've got a guide here," Scott said, "Wants to talk to us about things the town has seen. This might have less to do with the cave and more to do with something else."
"Wouldn't rule the cave out just yet, though," Remy said, a bigger believer of superstition than Scott was. "You've been in there?"
"Yes, Ororo and I just left it," and without missing a beat, he added, "And she's okay." Then he asked, "What's your ETA for San Antonio?"
"Probably by ten," Remy answered. "Why, does Jean have any results yet?"
"Not yet. Is Emma staying in Dallas?"
"For the time being. As Agent Gold said, the data system up there is better. She's checking up on a couple of things. And going through some of the Rojo Cueva stuff."
"Alright, Ororo and I are heading back. We might make it in before you."
Autopsy Room. 9:30 P.M.
"Well," Hank said, placing his hands on his hips, "The critters are all jarred and labeled, and I think they've given me all they can."
"Same with John Doe," Jean said, "Except for his name, I think he's said all he can say."
"It's odd, though," Hank said, which was probably an understatement, "It appears as if he had this ability for awhile. And yet, he chooses now to express his negative feelings on the matter."
"If it was his choice," Jean said. "However, there is nothing that might suggest someone helped him commit suicide. And, without a name and a history, we don't know if he's the type who would have done so, or not."
"I've always wondered," Hank said, switching gears, "Would it be possible for you to maybe see something psychically? I mean, I'm not naïve, I know that psychics aren't able to answer all of our looming questions or obtain for us our deepest desires, but…"
"My telepathic strength leaves something to be desired," Jean replied. "And, to my knowledge, I've never been able to see past events, though I do feel a sense of imminent danger when something bad may happen in the future. My psychic view of the world is somewhat blurry. As an empath, I'm most susceptible to emotions, and especially emotions of those I care for or am close to."
Hank nodded. "Is that difficult?" he asked, not exactly being specific for a reason.
"Oh, yes," she said, appearing sad. "When I see tragedy like this, either premeditated by the victim or the perpetrator, I often wish I was capable of stopping it, or at least doing more than cleaning up after it."
"But, you are, of course," Hank said. "You're finding the answers. You are giving closure to those who will grieve for this man."
"Yes," Jean said, fully confident in her role as a doctor and a medical examiner, "But, wouldn't it be great to be able to stop it before it happens? You've felt that way, I'm sure."
"Certainly," Hank replied. "When I was on the board to design and construct the super-powered prisons, I thought many times how wonderful it might be to have it empty someday. To be able to rehabilitate criminals is still one of my greatest wishes as a scientist."
Jean smiled, understanding the passion in Dr. Pym's blue eyes. "I guess we all do what we can, and that's all we can do."
Hank smiled back. "Do you think we're ready to let the team in on the results?"
Scott checked in with Emma once more before sending her to get some rest. And then, he, Ororo, and Remy who had arrived separately, entered the autopsy room. It was a little after ten, and everyone was tired, but this was the last thing on the schedule for tonight before they could sleep it off in the nice room and board section the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility offered.
Without the drama that might have fit right into a horror movie, Hank removed the sheet from the John Doe. The standard Y cut was sewn up and the dark stitches, though small and neat, looked hideous against the pale white skin of death. Whoever this man had been, his last moments hadn't been enjoyed, that much could be speculated from the scene in the cave – the body provided even less doubt.
The skin around each jagged laceration was deepened to a purple green tinge and the deep cuts themselves, though removed of blood and extra gristle were pink and lumpy looking, similar to a hunk of pork.
No matter how determined Ororo was to handle her first dead body like a pro, she began to see the vivid comparison to human flesh and ground beef – and the thought alone made her queasy. Being mainly a vegetarian made things worse. She took hold of Remy's tricep – hard – and he pulled up the nearest chair and maneuvered her into it, gently easing her head between her knees. He whispered something she didn't quite catch about water, but she waved him away. She felt foolish, of course, but then again she was among friends and things could have been much worse had she actually fainted.
Jean looked with sympathy for her friend for a moment, but continued on with her results. "We still don't have any confirmation on who this guy is, but his prints and his blood work are at the lab now and hopefully soon we'll learn something."
"So, we're not certain yet whether or not he was drugged, or took drugs?" Scott asked.
"Right," Jean replied.
Pym said, "We have TOD set right around two days prior to the Wilson's arrival, which we expected."
"And the COD," Jean said, "Is blunt force trauma. He literally flew himself into the walls until he died. He broke several bones and bled internally. He also suffered from a pretty severe concussion."
"That being said," Hank continued, "We still can't be sure why he did it or why it was done to him."
Scott asked, "Can you offer a guess? Do you think he did this to himself, or did someone do this to him?"
"How would someone go about making someone repeatedly slam their body into a wall?" Remy asked. "And why would someone repeatedly slam themselves into a wall?" His questions were rhetorical and everyone knew it.
"There is psychically," Jean said. "The other person wouldn't even have to be there necessarily."
"Okay, but what if someone was? Is there a chance you will find some evidence of that?"
"Doubt it, but we're going to pour over every single hair and blood sample we have."
"Let's assume for a second that this was a suicide," Remy said. "Why go to El Grande Rojo Cueva to end it all?"
"Unfortunately, we can't really answer any of these questions with any kind of certainty," Jean replied. It was something she had wondered too, of course. Was it something about the cave? Or something much less ominous or superstitious?
Scott said, "Well, this gives us a lot to think about. I'm ordering we call it a night. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning. Ororo and I will go back to the cave. Jean, Pym, I want you to continue what you're doing here. Leave no stone unturned. Remy, I want you to talk to some of the other people who filed complaints or whatnot with Agent Gold about that cave. Especially the family of the other casualty. Let's get a good night sleep and start fresh in the morning."
San Antonio S.H.I.E.L.D. Facility. Agent Dormitories. 11:30 P.M.
As mission protocol stated, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents or Avengers or anyone else assigned to a mission could no cohabitate a room with a person of the opposite sex, or cohabitate a room with the same sex unless available housing was unavailable. And neither Remy nor Ororo had plans to break that rule, both insisted in their heads that he was simply walking her to her room. And shutting the door in his face would have been just rude. Remy waited approximately three seconds after the door closed to ask, "Are you okay?"
Ororo smiled, sitting on the bed to take off her boots, "Of course, I'm okay."
In a nothin'-but-the-facts-ma'am kind of tone, he said, "You near about fainted less than an hour ago. And you're a little pasty right now, for a colored woman."
"I was – am – tired. It's to be expected. We all are. But, I'm fine. Honestly."
He looked at her for a moment longer, the crease in his brows still evident. "You sure?"
"I'm positive, Remy. It was my first dead body, and if I heard the stories right, I handled it better than you did yours."
He came over and sat next to her on the bed. "Don't feed me lines, chère," he said simply.
Yes, she should have known better than to fib to an empath. So, with a sigh, she placed her café au lait colored hands into his and met his dark brown eyes with her crystal blue ones. "The cave frightened me more than I thought it would. But I trust Scott and you do, too. Everything will be alright."
He smiled slightly, not quite pleased at his victory, but close. "You're right, of course," he said. "Everything's gonna be fine."
She smiled back and kissed him on the lips, but only for a moment. If she had held that position any longer she knew very well where it would lead and both needed to sleep at some point tonight.
Remy was thinking along the same lines and regrettably left her side. He made his way towards the door.
She said, "Goodnight, dear. I love you."
"Back at ya," he said, and closed the door after he left.